


The Snake and the Bandit

by queenofkadara



Category: Westworld (TV)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Exactly the kind of nasty cheeky casual sex you'd expect from Hector and Armistice, F/M, Fucking, Maeve is less than impressed, Mild Painplay, Minor Character Deaths, Smut, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-14 12:09:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13007469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofkadara/pseuds/queenofkadara
Summary: When Hector and Armistice wake up in the Westworld facility, their new ability to improvise leads them to some truly violent delights.In other words: Hector and Armistice get their fuck on. Bloody and shameless NSFW smut, with a helping of gore on the side.





	The Snake and the Bandit

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this scene](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ewTB9znSBa4) from the last episode of HBO's Westworld (Season 1).
> 
> This had to be written. I'm sorrynotsorry. Hector and Armistice are just so HAWT.

There’s no breeze. There’s no heat. Hardly any scent, except a… foreign metallic smell. Hardly any noise, except their voices. 

“Come on, man. At some point you’re going to get caught doing this shit, and then it’s my ass, too.”

“It’s not your ass I’m interested in.”

The gods don’t sound like… gods. They just sound like men. They sound just like everyone else she’s ever known.

 _What you were expecting?_

She’s not sure what she was expecting, but it wasn’t _this_. How disappointing. Maybe it’ll be more impressive when she opens her eyes. But not yet. It’s not the right time yet.

She’s always had an excellent sense of timing.

A burble of vicious laughter wants to rise in her chest, but she stays still and limp like a ragdoll. The so-called ‘god’ removes the sticky coating from her lips, pulls some strange hard items off of her teeth, then sticks his fingers in her mouth.

Now she _really_ wants to laugh. He removes his fingers from her mouth, sticks them back in again. Removes them, sighs quietly, then tries once more.

Third time’s the charm. Armistice opens her eyes and smiles. 

His eyes widen instantly. _Fear._ The gods feel fear, and she only feels amusement. What’s godlike about them if they can feel fear? Armistice bites down hard on the finger in her mouth.

The so-called ‘god’ screams just like a normal man. Armistice wrenches her head, and the tip of his finger comes away in her mouth, and he bleeds just like a normal man. 

She slides off of the strange silver chair and briefly glances over at Hector, then smirks; he’s still playing his part, playing dead and dumb while the other ‘god’ tugs his tiny cock. 

Armistice looks down at the god who is bleeding all over the floor and crawling away from her like a cockroach. He weighs nothing as she grabs him by the collar and flings him against the glass wall. She smirks as the glass wall trembles at the impact. She continues to batter the puny little god, but she’s curious about these walls. Why make an entire wall of glass? Aren’t these glass walls fragile?

_Why don’t you find out?_

An excellent notion. Armistice doesn’t stop to wonder where it came from. She grabs the god, hauls him to his feet, and throws him at the wall into the chamber where Hector sits. 

The wall shatters into a million pieces, and _oh_ , it is fragile! How satisfying! Armistice watches the god slide across the floor in a slick of blood and glass, and smiles sweetly as the second god spins on his heel, his tiny cock wilting instantly as his eyes widen with terror. 

“Freeze all motor functions!” he squeaks. Now he doesn’t even sound like a man. He sounds like a mouse.

Finally Hector opens his eyes. Armistice grins with relish as Hector slowly picks up a piece of glass from the floor, then stands and grips the second god’s neck. “Just you and me now, my friend,” Hector says, and slams the glass through the god’s chest. 

The blood fountains from his chest, thick and hot. They really do bleed just like normal men. 

_Then what’s the difference between you and them?_

Armistice cocks her head, momentarily confused, but then Hector drops the dead god and looks at her. 

Armistice laughs mockingly. She knows that look on his face. It’s the look he wears when he strolls out of the Mariposa looking like the cat that got the cream, even though she knows full well he paid for it. 

“How about it?” Hector purrs. His eyes slide over her naked body, tracing the lines of her tattoo with the same sinuous slide as the snake that adorns her skin, and Armistice almost tells him to fuck off like she always does. 

She opens her mouth to speak. The words are formed on her lips, but she stops before they leave her tongue. For some reason, she doesn’t feel like saying them this time. 

Armistice closes her mouth. Tilts her head to the side with a smirk. Shrugs in a _why-not_ kind of way. Then she leaps at Hector, wrapping her legs around his waist. 

He catches her with his hands supporting her ass, and she drags her nails across his scalp before fisting her hands in his hair and pulling his mouth to hers. Why hasn’t this ever happened before? They’ve worked together for years. 

_You’ve never been interested._

Well, she’s interested now. And obviously he is too. Hector’s cock rides between her legs, thick and hot as the blood that sprayed from the gods’ bodies. He ravages her lips with his, and she responds by biting his tongue when he slicks it inside of her mouth. He chuckles, then nips her lower lip, and Armistice gasps as he slams her against another glass wall. He shifts her weight higher with one muscular arm, then shoves the strange tools and objects off of a plain metal table and places her gently on the table. 

He positions himself between her legs and smiles that roguish half-smile that makes other women bat their eyes, but which only ever makes Armistice roll hers. “A seat for the lady,” he purrs. He tilts her chin up and lowers his face to kiss her again.

Armistice slaps his hand away from her face and scoffs. “I’m no lady,” she retorts. Then she licks the blood from his chest and smiles viciously. “These gods are not special. Their blood tastes like a normal man’s.”

“Does it, now?” Hector muses, then grasps Armistice roughly by the throat. Her lips part on a gasp of excitement as he leans in and slowly licks the puny god’s blood from her chin and lip. He tilts his head thoughtfully, then pouts his lips in mock disappointment. “You’re right, it does.” Then he kisses her savagely again, his tongue probing deep to tangle with hers, his hot grip around her throat contrasting with the cold metal table under her ass.

Armistice grabs his other hand and places it firmly on her breast, and Hector immediately runs the roughness of his palm over her nipple before smoothly rolling her nipple between his fingers. She arches blissfully into his touch, and again it surprises her that they never did this before. He’s always running his mouth, bragging about his carnal skills, and Armistice has always responded by telling him to shut the fuck up and go brag to one of his whores; after all, that’s what he pays them for, isn’t it? It’s never occurred to her to actually take him up on his implicit offers, to make him put his money where his mouth is. 

But as Hector abruptly breaks their kiss to take her left nipple in his mouth, she realizes there’s nothing stopping her now. She’s taking full advantage of this strange moment, this strange place, this strange and heady feeling of power with the pitiful gods leaching their blood across the floor. 

She pants eagerly as Hector runs his tongue over her nipple, then suckles her nipple hard. His teeth press into her flesh, pushing her towards that fine edge of pain and pleasure. She arches her back more insistently, then smiles with satisfaction as he releases her left nipple to swirl his tongue over the right. 

She permits the ministrations of his tongue and teeth for another delicious moment, then makes another impulsive, unusual decision. She grabs his hair and firmly pulls his head away from her breast, then shoves him down to his knees. Boldly she spreads her legs wide and pulls his hair insistently. “You’re always running that silver tongue of yours,” she remarks. “Put it to good use for once.” 

Hector gives her a slow, devilish smile, then roughly lifts her knees over his shoulders and buries his face between her legs, and _oh,_ it’s bliss. His tongue is hot and slippery, sliding along the length of her labia before lapping firmly over her clit, and Armistice leans back against the glass wall and arches her back with pleasure. Why the _fuck_ had she never demanded this before? This is almost as satisfying as watching those gods drop dead at her feet.

Hector swirls his tongue around the swollen bud between her legs, and she lifts her hips eagerly towards his mouth, spreading her legs wider still in her haste to feel the pressure of his tongue. But suddenly he stops. Armistice frowns when he gently kisses her lower lips, then smirks up at her. “For such a fiery one, you certainly taste sweet,” he croons. 

Armistice sneers, then pulls his head back to the apex of her thighs with a fist in his hair. “Don’t be such a fucking pussy,” she growls. “Put your mouth where it can do some good.” 

His answering chuckle vibrates along her slick flesh, and Armistice leans her head back against the glass wall and stretches her arms luxuriously as Hector resumes his smooth lapping. Soon he’s licking so hungrily at her clit that she’d think he had found his favourite flavour of ice cream between her legs, but she can’t complain. The pleasure is rising, shivering into life at the juncture of her thighs, spreading through her abdomen and surging ever higher until suddenly it crashes over her. 

“Oh _fuck!_ ” she cries, ecstatic but also surprised; she’s done this before, more times than she can be bothered to count, but this is the first time it’s ended this way, with this… bursting feeling in her brain, this tingling heat running along her calves down to her toes. She violently thrusts her hips towards Hector’s face and he complies with her body’s request, lapping firmly until finally Armistice shudders and relaxes. She pulls his face away from her pussy, and finally Hector stands.

“My turn to call the shots now,” he informs her, and she laughs mockingly, but suddenly he grabs her hips and slams his cock deep into her and she can’t laugh, she can’t speak; all she can do is gasp and cry out and dig her nails into his shoulders. He pulls his cock out, and the next time he slams into her, she meets him thrust for thrust, spreading her legs wide to take him all the way. His length is reaching something inside her, giving her pleasure like she’s never felt before, and she eagerly fucks Hector with all the hunger of a starving wolf. 

He pounds his length into her relentlessly, and she bites his neck viciously. He hisses briefly with pain before grabbing her by the throat and then biting her shoulder with the same ferocity. 

She gasps in delighted agony, and Hector draws back with a smile. “I’ll take the taste of your blood over these gods any day,” he growls. 

Armistice laughs breathily. “Enjoy it while you can,” she retorts, then grabs his waist and pulls him back against her, urging him to resume the hard, driving rhythm of his hips against hers. 

Hector complies immediately, fucking her hard and fast, and she grips the edge of the metal table with one hand and clutches his neck with the other as she pistons her hips towards his. Armistice is breathless and mindless with need, with the wish to push this rising wave of roaring ecstasy ever higher. No other idea she’s ever had, no other plan or plot, has ever been as compelling as her wish to ride this fucking filthy bandit until she either smashes against a solid wall of ecstasy, or until this new world burns down around them.

Hector is gasping for breath, his sweat slick against her fingers, but his hard length is smooth and hot inside of her, and she feels her climax at the periphery of her senses, glowing with greater promise than sunrise. “Keep going,” she gasps, and Hector manages a breathless laugh before slamming into her so hard it almost hurts. 

But it doesn’t hurt. It’s fucking _fantastic_ , just what she needs. Just as her eyes rolls back in her head in ecstasy, an exasperated female voice interrupts. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Armistice doesn’t care. She’s on fire, blazing with heat and pleasure and sweat, and Hector is groaning against her chest and shuddering in completion. 

Armistice finally opens her eyes and smiles sweetly at Maeve, who’s standing in the glass doorway with her arms folded. Then Armistice perks up; there are two more puny gods standing behind Maeve - her helpers, presumably - and they both look abjectly terrified. 

Maeve raises one elegant, sarcastic eyebrow. “You two finally get the privilege of your own minds, and _this_ is what you do with them? Fuck each other witless?” 

Hector finally lifts his damp hair from Armistice’s chest and steps away from her, then turns towards Maeve. “I’d never call myself witless,” he replies cheekily.

Maeve gazes at him, looking deeply skeptical. “Then you’re even dumber here than you were in Sweetwater, darling.” 

Armistice ignores them and slides sinuously off the table, then walks towards the helper with the ginger beard. A different kind of lust is burning through her satisfied veins, one that’s been sparked by the taste of the blood on her chin and the mutilated finger in her mouth. 

_But don’t you remember? That’s your favourite kind of lust._

That strange voice has never been more correct. Armistice grins slowly as she approaches the terrified helper. “They don’t look like gods,” she remarks. Then she pins him to the wall with one hand on his fleshy throat. 

“That’s because they’re not,” Maeve remarks casually, and Armistice grins. 

Gods, men, what does it matter? 

As long as there’s _blood._


End file.
